


Bruises

by betterrecieved



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Safe-words, they matter on so many levels.</p><p>Canon AU ficlet, study of what could have been.  This gets a bit dark.  Past Crixus/Naevia.    </p><p>Please pardon any mistakes, this is unbeta'd!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the only gay Eskimo apparently. :(

Crixus fucks Nasir with enthusiasm, with gratefulness, occasionally with tenderness.

Nasir happily returns favor, gratified to sink eager young cock into strong gladiator. Thrusts with brow-furrowing, conscientious thoroughness that Crixus would chuckle at were he not instead hoarsely shouting Syrian’s name.

There exists pleasing balance between them, and Crixus would have it remain so. Yet Crixus holds belief that caged, crouching animal resides within himself, ready at any moment to spring forward with snapping jaws.

For when rigid self-control slips, Crixus is capable of passions too destructive to fully articulate.

Under unwanted influence of hidden monster, sometimes Crixus fucks without remembering his strength.

‘You are bruised!’ Crixus exclaims. ‘Apologies!’

Nasir twists body to observe hand-shaped mark upon each thigh. Matching blemishes mar upper arms and worst of all, side of Nasir’s face.

With tenderness and regret, Crixus traces livid patches adorning Nasir's silken skin.

‘Did you not recall simple measure adopted to avoid grievous injury?’

'My thoughts were of your hands upon me, your cock within. Discretion is easily drowned in sea of passion,' Nasir tells him.  'I have only been handled roughly, not broken.'

‘You were to warn me, Nasir.’ Crixus speaks crossly but curls hand around Nasir’s hip, tugging man close. ‘Or has word fled memory?’

‘No.’ Nasir looks down, avoids gaze. ‘It has not. I would only ask for different word.’

Crixus sighs. ‘It is set in stone.’

Nasir leans into him, presses kiss to Crixus’ collarbone. ‘Crixus,’ he whispers. ‘If it comes to that you will not truly hurt me.’

‘You cannot know this, nor can I promise it.’ Crixus softens stark words with kiss to Nasir’s forehead.

‘Take chance, then, and see us both more often than not satisfied.’

‘I would not. You could not survive misjudgment.’

‘I have survived Roman armies swarming upon camp in legion. I stand trained in art of war by champions of fucking arena!’

‘Yet you have never stood on arena’s sand,’ Crixus rejoins dismissively.

Ferocious light appears in mild brown eyes, lip curls to bare teeth.  Nasir is cut to quick by words which, though undeniable, admittedly hold intolerable double meaning. 'And you have never stood my better!'

Seeing depth of wound to Nasir, Crixus deflates. Sanity dictates that he cannot defend Nasir from hurt by hurting Nasir.

‘I have not,’ Crixus agrees. ‘Apologies. Apologies. Nasir. Nasir! Apologies.’ It takes many kisses, many reassurances before Nasir unwinds like spooked feline and is finally former mild-eyed self.

*

Crixus dreams of roaring crowd, of blood arcing through air as he stands triumphant upon familiar sand. He dreams of _her_. Then dream dissolves, and faint voice calls Crixus’ name as mind is assaulted by thoughts of cursed Syrian.

Crixus opens eyes in total darkness. Excruciating pain in balls has awakened him. Beneath his body small alive thing weakly bucks and kicks.

Crixus reaches instantly for weapon and finds hands already occupied, wrapped tight around warm column, squeezing with even pressure. Crixus lets go, horror quick to dawn.

*

Agron, loyal friend who would gladly be more to Nasir, must be restrained by Spartacus from violence against Crixus.

Spartacus is grave, takes Crixus aside to have words. ‘I must inquire about Nasir.’ He shifts feet uncomfortably. ‘I call him friend and will not allow harm to fall upon him.’

‘Nightmares,’ Crixus tells him.

Spartacus exhales audibly in relief. 'There is extra tent near your own.'  He lays hand upon Crixus' shoulder. 'See that you both find much deserved rest.'

Crixus nods understanding, vows to self that he would follow this man in quest to usurp the gods from their very thrones.

*

Days later, Nasir’s neck remains purple and hideously swollen.

It is testament to Nasir’s resilience that Crixus has not crushed his throat, only bruised his beautiful boy’s voice-box.

Without words, Nasir says much. He kisses Crixus’ eyelids, brushes away few tears which escape them. Presses lips to Crixus’ palms, while Crixus flinches.

‘When you can speak without pain, you must say one word I ask of you!’

Nasir’s eyes plead.

Crixus stands firm. ‘You must do this, or we shall remain forever in separate sleeping quarters. You will not feel my cock within you, nor my arms around you in dead of night when your slumbering body seeks mine.’

Nasir shoots him hateful look like sharpened arrow. The very air around Nasir radiates anger as he storms away, leaving Crixus standing in middle of Nasir’s new tent with mouth agape.

*

When Nasir comes to Crixus’ tent, some days later, Crixus only stares up at him expectantly from sleeping pallet.

Nasir’s lips tighen into stubborn line.

Crixus rises and pushes Nasir out of tent. ‘Give voice to calming word or be gone!’

Nasir’s eyes go huge, like wounded stag. Then his face hardens as he steps forward.

Crixus again pushes him back.

Nasir stares up at him, shaking with anger, with sadness, with love. So many emotions reside in lovely face that Crixus is lost between fascination and rage.

‘Naevia,’ Nasir whispers.

And Beast within Crixus whimpers, chastened by beloved word issued from beloved mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I put warning for Major Character Death although I don't know if Naevia is dead or not in this fic... But I think most will agree that Crixus could not move on if there were hope that Naevia were alive. So I suppose she has passed away...


End file.
